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theZEBRA
just spent the weekend at the army barracks
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Songs of the Plains
Family Court

One would be in less danger
From the wiles of a stranger
If one's own kin and kith
Were more fun to be with.

Ogden Nash
Thanks, St. Paddy
Saturday. 3.18.06 3:26 pm
It’s 6 am and I’m in tears. I just puked my guts out barely ten minutes ago but already I need to go again. And I don’t think I can make it to the loo this time, stumbling around in the dark, still half-pissed. Plus the door might not lock properly, not after I tripped and fell straight onto the door handle just now.

I feel utterly and completely wretched.

I try to recall what last night’s occasion was. Oh yes. St. Patrick’s Day. Apparently, it was crucial that we got absolutely smashed to honour St. Paddy, even if none of us at the party was Irish. Well, we definitely drank enough to honour him and any other saints we might have missed earlier.

It wasn’t even that spectacular a party, not enough to make the pain I’m in worth it anyway. All I remember is helping to break up a fight (one guy had to be grabbed in an armlock while the other was dragged outside – I did the talking and door-locking), breaking a glass, falling asleep in the corridor, and someone carrying me home. At least Security didn’t come down to break the party up this time.

Alright, maybe I drank a little too much.

Oh god, I feel sick. And if I don’t stop puking soon, I’ll have to crawl up to the Health Centre to get a rehydration jab. The last time I felt this bad, I went off alcohol for at least a month. This is it. Time for another month’s break, I think.

And then I catch sight of the cool Guiness cap that Bottleshop Adam gave me last night.

Well, make that a couple of days.

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Nothing Says Drama Queen
Wednesday. 12.27.06 9:53 pm
like passing out in a crowded bar.

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You Know
Thursday. 3.16.06 8:16 am
you've had too much to drink when you squirt face wash onto your toothbrush and only realise your mistake after you've spat.

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I'm Seeing Double
Saturday. 2.18.06 10:22 pm
I have not spent any of the last six nights sober.

Australia may be a bad influence.

I shall update (and reply) when my hand-eye-keyboard coordination has returned to normal again. If ever.

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Woe is Me
Tuesday. 2.14.06 12:05 am
I have just been invited to a party.

With promises of free booze, good music, and studmuffins galore.

But mature, responsible person that I am, I declined as I have a 9.30am lecture tomorrow. And I could never forgive myself if I fell asleep in cla...

No, I cannot lie to you.

The truth is, I have nothing to wear. Nothing clean, that is. I haven't done any laundry since I arrived because quite simply, I've absolutely no idea how to use a washing machine. It's very sobering to learn that clothes do not magically appear fresh, clean, and ironed in the wardrobe after spending a night in the clothes hamper.

This is clearly becoming an issue. Evidently, I need to stop procrastinating and do something now.

*Advertises for a Washing Lady to move in*

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Delirium Tremens
Tuesday. 3.21.06 12:06 am
Dinner at the Belgian Beer Cafe.

I try not to look too worried as I contemplate the tasting tray sitting before me. Everyone else has already ordered their favourites and they’re all watching me expectantly. I scan the bottles already on the table – a couple of Chimays, a Leffe, and three different Hoegaardens.

Is this a test? I can’t help but feel that any future invitations will hang on my beer choice. Will they think less of me if I choose a Chimay White over Blue? And what if I pick an utterly pretentious beer? Will that reflect my innate brand-whorism?

I try to fish for hints.

“Hmm, why don’t you try one first and tell me what you think?”

“No thanks, darling, I’ve got mine. Just pick one. It’s really your own taste.”

So much for that. Until tonight, my taste tended to gravitate towards whatever was on special at the bottleshop. Sigh. This would be so much easier if they hadn’t detached the little bits of paper naming and describing the beers first.

Right, here goes. The first two are immediately rejected. Too big, too heavy. The third’s a bit iffy. It’s alright, but it’s also boring. It doesn’t taste like it has any personality. If the last one doesn’t go down well either, I’m stuck between three beers that I don’t like and one that says that I watch golf.

I pick up the last glass. And the first sip takes me by surprise because it starts off unexpectedly tingly, almost bitey. It’s very smooth though, and subtle. I like it. A lot. It tastes like it belongs in a club/lounge as opposed to the first two which have seem more pubbish. Refined. Sophisticated. Like me.

Someone passes me the bit of paper that came with it. “Delirium Tremens”. Good name (haha) even if it does sound a bit cocktail-y. 9% alc. vol. (phwoar, put that next to a Heineken’s 5%).

I place my order and smirk with self-satisfaction. Until my bottle arrives.

Pink elephants.

     

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Fucking Pub Crawls
Saturday. 4.1.06 3:36 am
DISASTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NEver have I beens so de-presed after drinking.!!osm! And I shall tell you why!! It is a diasaster! A national catashrtophe!!!!!!!!!! CATASTPROPHE!!!!!!!!!!

Itw as supposeed to be such a GOOD night!! Pub crawl! Perfect excuse to get drunk with mauritian guy!

And it worked too! At first...

And then he turned to another girl! WHY?!!!!!!!!!! WHY WHY HYW?!

So i tried to balance it out by paying attentin to a Nowegian guy (I didn't want to be obvious). Only...I paid a littel too much atettention and now Norwegian guy thinks I'm v much into him...which i'm not, because he's not hot...but that's beside the point. Because I'm not shallow...and I value maturity and communication and hotness and and..and hotness which is Mauritian guy. But now Mauritian guy probably thinks:
a. I am a slag.
b. I am into not-hot Norwegian guys.

So now I have a dilemmma - to call and confess? or to play it cool, a nd let him do the work.

I cry.

Beacuse I really thought we had something tehre and now I've mucked it all up.

Fucking pub crarwls..





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Hit Me with a Double
Thursday. 9.14.06 5:48 pm
Bar work!

I'll be working at the uni's bar next week. I can't wait - free drinks, flirting with the hot bartender whose name I don't know yet but will soon (ho ho ho), having uber cool BARTENDER status (let's not ALL rush in for a shag), and more free drinks!

Perfik!

Or it would be if I was getting paid as well. Somehow, I find myself paying $40 to put in two hours of slave labour instead. Surely, something went wrong somewhere...

But no. It's not a con. The $40 I forked out was actually for a 2-night bar course involving lessons on the do's and don't's behind a bar, how to pour a beer (and they forced us to drink our attempts! *Hic* "That was a crap pour. Can I *hic* have another go?"), a bit of wine -- *hic hic* -- tasting, and how to mix a number of cocktails (and dispose of them accordingly too. "Ooo, I think I mucked this one up. Can I -- *falls off bar stool* -- whoops there, can I try it again?").

Still, it's not too bad a deal. I'm pretty sure I drank my money's worth. Plus, there was an after-party with a free flow of drinks...although I only realised that the drinks weren't free at all when I was mocked by a very light wallet the next morning.

Come to think about it, the two hours of unpaid, or rather self-paid, work could come in handy. This way, I'll be able to say that I have work experience when applying for a proper bar job in the future:

"So, how long did you work at the Tav?"
"Oh, about 2-"
"Months?"
"Uh, -ish... Almost..."

All in all, a pretty good deal I would say. *Hic* Yep.

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